


And in the evening when the sun is sinkin' low, everybody's with the one they love

by ace73



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean is a soft old man, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jack's soul is back, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, kinda plotless, sam is mentioned briefly, this is trash guys i cant write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace73/pseuds/ace73
Summary: A short story including Jack being a sweetie, Cas being emotionally stable-ish, and Dean being tired and old as hell. The story takes place sometime after "Destiny's Child" since Jack's soul is back, but nothing major that is related to the plot of season 15 is mentioned, except for the prayer in s15e09.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	And in the evening when the sun is sinkin' low, everybody's with the one they love

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, English is not my native language and so I apologize in advance for all mistakes. Plus, if you notice some blatant errors, please let me know, I'll be forever grateful. This is also my first fanfic and I have no idea what I'm doing :)  
> I hope this work won't be too much of a dissapointment and that y'all will enjoy reading it.

The night was dark and restless, flowing with sweat and gore. Dean wiped his blade on the coat of a vampire whose head was lying a couple of feet away. The nest has been a run-of-the-mill hunt; a couple of bloodsuckers apparently stupid enough to let themselves get caught by a rusty hunter in the middle of the woods. Good thing though that Dean was still quick with both his mind and muscles, and finished the job nicely and accurately, without acquiring any major injuries. Only his knuckles got hurt in the process, now bleeding sluggishly. The droplets of blood were trickling down his fingers, tickling Dean’s tender skin slightly, only to eventually drip off his fingernails. The hunter sighed and shook his hands. The headless bodies littering the glade needed to be taken care of. In for a dime, in for a dollar, as they say. A pyre was out of the question; the fire would only draw unnecessary attention. Dean sighed once again, heavier this time. He looked around, his eyes searching in the dark. Next to one of the trailers lied a shovel, resting neatly against a once-white wall. Dean stuck his blade into the ground, grabbed the shovel and started walking unhurriedly towards the edge of the glade. 

There was a thought, a selfish little thought in the back of his mind telling him to call Jack, to tell him to get his ass down here and help his old man with the burial. But that would mean that he would have to wake the boy up and either make him walk all the way here or get into the Impala and drive to the motel to pick Jack up himself and then return to the forest. Both of these options meant too much time wasted just because his back was sore. So, Dean sighed yet again, went in among the trees and started digging. 

The dawn was tranquil and dirty. Dean wiped his hands on his coat and glanced at his watch. It was late at night or very early in the morning, depending how you’d look at it. Which meant that he spent the whole night on vampires instead of getting at least a couple of hours on his much-needed beauty sleep. Fan–fucking–tastic. With a groan he stretched, feeling all his muscles and old injuries protesting boisterously, which had less to do with his weariness and more with the fact that Dean was on the wrong side of forty. 

Well, so it goes.

The ride back to the motel was music-less and very much painful. The small of Dean’s back was killing him and an unpleasant tingling in his knuckles potentiated every time he had to squeeze the steering wheel a little tighter to make a turn. It wasn’t anything the hunter wasn’t used to; years of killing and bleeding and hurting made him almost indifferent to most injuries or aches. Key-word: almost. Sometimes his body was just really keen on reminding him that he was still very, very human, and an aging one, on top of that. Maybe, someday, when he was younger, he would have been almost happy to feel that pain; it would mean that he had survived the night and had made a contribution to the world by killing some evil sons of bitches. But now all he felt was weariness, which was doubled when he realized that there’s a whole new day waiting for him. Of course, he wasn’t going to bitch about that. No, the life he has been leading for almost forty years now, thought him better than to complain about small things like aching bones or cracked skin on his hands. Nevertheless, it was still nice sometimes to indulge himself and not overlook everything that was wrong with his existence.

When Dean pulled the car up in the parking lot it was well past four AM. He grabbed the bag of groceries he bought last night before his little encounter with the vamps and got out of the Impala. He shut the door and searched through his pockets to find the key to his and Jack’s room. While putting the key into the lock he was half-hoping that the kid would still be fast-asleep or at least sleepy enough not to question Dean’s absence during the night. His wishes, of course, weren’t granted as a pair of honey-brown eyes met his, the moment he stepped into the room. 

Jack was sitting on his own bed, the one farther away from the door. His hands were on his knees as he looked at Dean reproachfully.

“I woke up and you weren’t here.” He said, a bit of accusation in his voice. Dean swallowed and put the keys and the groceries on the table. “Well, I went shopping.” Not exactly a lie. He glanced at Jack and sighed, for the hundredth time this night. “But fortunately or not, I stumbled upon some of the vamps that we were huntin’. They were kind enough to tell me where the rest of their nest was. I got rid of ‘em. Wanted to call you, but figured that you’d still be asleep.” said Dean in lieu of an apology. Jack was still watching him carefully. For whatever reason Dean felt a little too exposed, as if the kid could see the tiredness in his face and all the wrinkles and shadows around his eyes and actually care about all that. Then Jack’s gaze dropped to his hands, with blood and dirt caked under his nails and with his ragged knuckles which, now in better lightning, were raw and red. 

“Are you hurt?” the boy asked, worry appearing on his face in the place of anger. Dean chuckled soundlessly. “No, kid. I’m good.” He stripped off his jacket, dumped it on the bed and started untying his shoes. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he pointed at the bag laying on the table, “and you should eat something”. 

Jack nodded slowly and rose from his bed. Dean watched him for a short moment, a thought crossing his mind. A thought that has been there for a long time now, ever since Dean allowed himself to care for the boy. And after all this time it still caught him by surprise how much the kid reminded him of Cas. The cautiousness of his movements and a sort of off-beam obedience to whatever Dean was saying. Of course, there were major differences between the two of them and said obedience wasn’t always present, thank God for that. Or maybe not God, Dean corrected himself bitterly. Well, maybe to some extend it was His doing, too. Dean quickly decided not to dwell on that. 

The shower was a relief. The water pressure was nothing compared to the one in the bunker, but cold water washed away some of the pain and fatigue from Dean’s body. Now fully clothed, except his boots and jacket, he emerged from the bathroom, only to see Jack eating chips on his bed. He was sitting cross-legged, shoulder slumped a little, crunching the food loudly, as it was so customary of him. He looked up to meet Dean’s eyes and smiled a little, with his mouth full. The older hunter couldn’t help but return the gesture. He thought about Sam, how he used to eat when they were younger and how he was now; all healthy food and lifestyle. But sometimes Dean would indulge himself and Jack and not listen to his pain-in-the-ass little brother. Maybe that was why Jack always seemed so eager to go on hunts and road trips with Dean, the promise of junk food and rock and roll being too attractive to ignore. With that thought in mind, the older Winchester walked over to the table and picked a bag of gummy bears from the bag, opened it loudly and threw a handful of jellies into his mouth. Jack stared at him for a second and then returned to his chips. 

After they ate, the older hunter has decided it was time for them to get the hell out of there. It was still early so Dean considered letting Jack drive for a while; it’d be an apology for not giving him a chance to properly participate in the hunt. But Jack wasn’t that much of a confident driver, at least not yet, so making him sit behind the wheel on busier roads may turn out as a tragic mistake. Nevertheless, Dean asked Jack, who stared at him with wide eyes and then shook his head slightly saying that it’s better if Dean’s behind the wheel. But his eyes got softer and his smile easier, since with the amount of time he’s spent with the hunter he knew that this offer was more of an apology rather that an actual proposition. So, they got into the car and drove in the early morning hours, heading to the bunker that they were lucky to call home. 

ᴥᴥᴥ

By the time the clock struck nine AM Dean has been close to falling asleep behind the wheel three times already. There was a time when he’d be able to pull off two all-nighters and shrug that off like it was nothing, but those times were long gone. Also, Jack’s stomach started getting louder and louder as the time passed since the boy liked eating a lot and that small bag of chips at four in the morning wasn’t exactly sufficient. The kid wouldn’t dare to complain about anything, some part of him still wary around Dean while at the same time wanting his approval. So, Dean knowing all that (a part of him still hating himself for making the boy feel insecure around him) pulled over at some decent-looking diner to get breakfast for Jack and coffee for himself. He smiled at the waitress, Rachel, while ordering but there was nothing more behind that smile other than simple politeness. There was a time when he’d be eating her with his eyes, winking at her and flirting shamelessly but those times, too, were long gone. Besides, she was much younger than him and well, there was a kid sitting opposite him. 

Jack ate in silence, his pancakes drowning in maple syrup. Again, Dean’s mind reminded him that Sam would flip if he saw that Dean’s letting the kid eat that much sugar for breakfast. But Sam wasn’t here to lecture neither of them and Jack seemed to be getting the most out of the current situation. Dean looked at him fondly and sipped his a little burnt-tasting coffee equally quiet. There was a simplicity to that morning; just two not-so-ordinary people enjoying each other’s presence. No monsters to hunt (for now), no God to fight (for now), just coffee, pancakes, chatter of other customers and pretty waitresses around them. 

Jack swallowed his last bite and licked his mouth. “So, how long will it take us to get back to Lebanon?” he asked, apparently in a need to disturb their comfortable silence. 

Dean tore his gaze away from the view outside of the window. “A couple hours. We should be there for lunch. Sam’s promised to make some food once we’re back. Maybe the bunker isn’t all burnt down yet," he joked, knowing that his brother was as much of a cook as Dean was a writer. 

Jack nodded. “Is Cas home?” 

Dean raised one of his brows. “He should be, why?” Actually, he hasn’t considered the possibility of Cas not being in the bunker when they get back, at least not without telling him first. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Jack sighed and looked up at Dean. “It’s just… you two argue a lot these days. You argued before we went on this hunt," he mumbled, slightly embarrassed.  
Oh. So that was the issue. “Look kid, it takes a lot more than a few angry word exchanges between me and Cas for him to actually leave the bunker without telling me or Sam about it,” Dean repressed a shudder, his mind travelling back to the day when they thought they lost Rowena and when he thought he lost Cas. “Besides, even if he did leave, why would you want him in the bunker in the first place?” he asked and then realized how his word sounded like. “I mean, you need something specific?” he added quickly.

“He should fix your hands, since I can’t," said Jack as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Dean was already opening his mouth to interrupt the kid but the boy wasn’t done talking. “And he also promised me he’ll watch ‘The Office’ with me.” 

Dean smile was narrow, a tight feeling in his chest. “Look kid, Cas ain’t gonna waste his grace on my paper cut, alright? And he’s gonna be in the bunker to watch that show with you, and if he’s not you’ll call him and he’ll come.” Dean’s voice was sure. He looked into his cup, now empty, and swallowed the lump in this throat. 

Cas and him haven’t exactly been fighting. Not for real. After Purgatory and all that has happened, they were more or less heading towards a better relationship, but Dean still felt a little uneasy. There was something between them, something that has been building up for years but Dean was still direfully inexperienced with all the feelings and thoughts that were flooding his mind any time the angel was close or anytime something reminded him of Cas. His anger was also still there, an obstacle too high to jump above, buzzling beneath the surface, ready to burst out when triggered. Sometimes Dean would lash out, even now, after their conversation that provided some sort of comfort. Cas happened to be the unfortunate target of his rage more often than not. It made Dean’s guilt deepen, it made him feel helpless since he really didn’t want to be that. He didn’t want to be a man his father once was. Well, now it was too late, he thought bitterly, his mind travelling back to the day he put a gun against his son’s head.

ᴥᴥᴥ

The rest of the day was surprisingly uneventful. They came back home, Sam didn’t burn the bunker down, Cas and Dean managed to be civil with one another and God hasn’t decided to wipe them. Dean’d call that a success. Jack’s been in his room with Cas for the most part of the day, watching TV shows and snacking on popcorn. 

Dean went to sleep sometime after noon, exceptionally tired after two sleepless nights. Sam just raised his brow at him but said nothing, except wishing him a ‘goodnight’. 

Falling asleep took Dean longer than he’d wished it would. There was an anxiety in his mind, making his heart pound unpleasantly in his chest. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, fast and loud, pulsing in his fingertips. 

Still, trained by life to ignore his discomfort, he managed to drift off into a dreamless lethargy.

When Dean woke up the first thing that came to his still fuzzy with sleep mind was the headache. The second one was the smartness in his hands, still present even after all those hours. Truth be told, he hasn’t even disinfected the wounds properly, but wasn’t like anything would happen because of that. The headache however, may have been an indication that the hunter should probably take better care of himself and his battered body.

Dean glanced at his watch, experiencing a déjà vu of sort. It was late at night or very early in the morning, depending how you’d look at it. And Dean was tired and awake. Again. He sighed, sitting up on his bed. He rolled off his mattress and put on his dead guy robe on, still a little stiff from sleeping in the wrong position. Ah, age was not something Dean was particularly fond of. 

He emerged from his room, his eyesight slowly adjusting to the lights in the hallway. He was heading towards the kitchen to get something to drink, or eat. The hunter hasn’t decided what he was in the mood for yet. 

In the kitchen Cas sat by the table, with his hands wrapped around a cup of something warm. Dean glanced at him and then turned to pour himself some tea that the angel made, not bothering to ask for permission. He felt Cas’ stare burning a hole in his nape the entire time. He lingered for a while, resting against the counter but then an impulse made him walk over to the table and sit diagonally to Cas. The angel met his eyes and smiled softly. Dean looked into his tea. 

They sat in silence for what seemed like a century, drinking their teas and avoiding each other’s eyes. Nevertheless, the moment wasn’t awkward, the quiescent hours of the night swathing them with comfortable silence. 

Cas was the first one to speak up.

“Jack said you took care of the hunt on your own.” There was no accusation in his tone, just a simple statement of a fact.

Dean looked up from his half-empty cup. “That’s not true. The kid helped with the investigation.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I knew where the nest was, Cas. It was late and the kid was sleeping and it’d be a waste of time to drag him with me to the woods.” He finished, trying to justify his actions out of a habit.

Cas nodded. “I know. Jack has been quite understanding, too. I was just wondering whether that was the actual reason and not the fact that you think he’s not ready or skilled enough to help you out on hunts.” 

Dean groaned. “Cas, we’ve been through all this, multiple times. That’s not the case here and you know it. I know the kid is good at the job, alright? And it’s not that I’m protecting him or something ‘cause I know he can handle about anything. Just that day the situation was what it was, end of story.” Dean let out a breath, realizing that his words may have sounded a little too sharp. “Plus, if something happened, the kid wouldn’t be able to use his powers, and if the situation forced him to do so, well, we’ll have another much bigger problem than me hunting alone.” The Winchester added, and sipped his tea, wishing it were something stronger.

Cas stared at him for a while. “I suppose you are right, Dean. Still, I can’t help but notice that you seem more weary than usual," He pointed out, a glimpse of concern in his eyes.

Dean smirked humorlessly. “Well, I ain’t exactly twenty anymore.” 

“That is true,” Cas besmiled faintly. Dean looked at him, meeting his irises filled with affection and found himself sincerely smiling back. 

It was moments like this, quiet and peaceful and theirs that made Dean want to cross the line. When he was sure that Sam wouldn’t burst into the room and interrupt them, when he was tired and honest and very much like any three AM version of any human, that is, vulnerable. His feelings and thoughts guarded so scrupulously were now spilling between him and his angel, no boundaries kept. Dean once again was reminded how many emotions other than anger he was able to feel, when with the right people. 

Cas glanced at Dean’s hands. He moved his cup away and reached out. “Let me,” he said, waiting for Dean to allow him to heal the barked skin of his knuckles.  
Dean’s first instinct was to refuse, to remind Cas how little of his grace was left, that they’ll need every last bit of his powers to battle with God, but his words died in his throat when he saw the expression on Cas’ face. Slowly, he shunted his tea and placed his hands flat on the table, right in front of Cas. The angel gazed at him for a second and then, hesitantly, he covered Dean’s palms with his own. Dean’s breath hitched a little, when skin touched skin and Cas’ grace started glowing dimly. Shortly after the pain stopped, and Dean felt his skin rebuilt completely, not leaving any scars in the process. He wanted to shake his hand, mumble a ‘thank you’ to Cas and hide his palms, feeling too exposed.

But Cas hasn’t moved his hands, curling his soft fingers around Dean’s calloused ones. 

The hunter didn’t dare to look up and meet the angel’s eyes, absolutely aware of the intensity of Cas’ gaze. For a few seconds, seconds filled with listening to his own heart hammering against his ribcage, seconds filled with doubt and hesitancy, Dean stared obstinately at their joined hands. 

Then, in the heat of the moment, he looked up and met Cas’ eyes. 

Ah, what the hell, Dean thought.

And then they were kissing, slowly and tentatively, ready to pull away if the other did so. 

Neither of them did, of course. 

Dean’s exhaustion hit him with a wave of sudden dizziness, lightheadedness caused by both wariness and the outburst of his feelings. He broke the kiss, and looked at Cas, wide-eyed. The angel opened his eyes, and met Dean’s unsure ones. Then he grinned shyly, and squeezed the hunter’s hands. 

For whatever reason, probably because of fatigue, Dean wanted to laugh. However, knowing that this specific reaction may not be the most suitable one, he just leaned forward and rested his head on Cas’ shoulder, smiling like an idiot. 

“Well, I suppose the aftermath of lonely hunts does have its perks, doesn’t it?” Asked Castiel, wrapping his arms around the hunter.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Dean’s weary voice was muffled by the fabric of the angel’s trench coat. 

It was late at night or very early in the morning, depending how you’d look at it. And Dean was tired and awake. Again. Truth be told, he was tired quite often, but for the first time in a very long while, he was tired and happy.


End file.
